


Lilies & Roses

by dimplelegacy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Florist!Shiro, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tattoo Artist!Keith, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, lots of flower talk, not nearly enough kissing Imo, sheith prompt bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimplelegacy/pseuds/dimplelegacy
Summary: Despite having a rose tattoo on the back of his hand and lilies at home he doesn't care to think too deeply about, Keith's not much into flowers. That doesn't mean he can't be into florists, does it?





	Lilies & Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I can't be on time even when I'm pinch-hitting but here it is! Thank you Ana for proof-reading and thank you, dear Nova, for being eternally patient and sweet! This was a fic that didn't want to end.
> 
> The original prompt was quite different: "A tattoo parlor opens up on a quiet, picturesque street across the way from the local florist. Gossip ensues between the various shop owners, and the florist is nominated to go check out their new neighbor."
> 
> Please go love Nova's [art](https://twitter.com/novoltronnova/status/1134564573422505984) !!

 

 

 

 

"Hi!"

 

Keith  _ does not _ flinch at the overly chipper and friendly tone, just like he  _ does not _ flinch at the warm smile probably the hottest guy in the world is giving him.

 

And he did not just knock down the disinfection bottle over the desk. Because that would be stupid.

 

The tall, broad guy with a bouquet of flowers doesn't wait for his greetings. Keith notices, thanks to the knot on his right sleeve, that he’s missing an arm. "I own the flower shop across the street and I thought I should come to introduce myself. We’re technically neighbors now, don't you think?"

 

Keith doesn't know what to think, honestly. He's a typical guy, born in Texas, so he's far from someone who exchanges pleasantries with random flower boys. 

 

"Fits my profile to give you flowers as a welcome gift," the guy explains his gift but it still doesn’t serve as an explanation for his unnecessary kindness. He steps inside and walks to Keith before offering the bouquet to him. "Alstroemerias."

 

Maybe it's a cultural difference. "Thanks?" Keith mutters and hesitantly accepts the flowers.

 

"I'm Shiro." 

 

"Keith."

 

As they shake hands, Keith notices how warm this Shiro guy's palm is, how long his fingers are. Lucky flowers.

 

"A cool tattoo. Did you make that yourself?" 

 

Keith follows his gaze to the back of his palm, the red rose he has on his skin.

 

He slowly rolls his eyes. "Yeah, with one hand, the left one. All alone."

 

There's an adorable switch in Shiro's practiced smile. "Oh, right. I should have realized-"

 

"I'm kidding, of course I did it myself. As if I would let anyone else ink my skin."

 

Shiro's shoulders briefly shake from a chuckle. "And yet you expect your clients to do so?"

 

"If I sucked at it, naturally I wouldn't have any other option."

 

"You're left-handed then?

 

"Ambidextrous."

 

"That's handy." Shiro hums and Keith smiles slightly at the dumb pun. "If you ever need flowers, drop by my shop. I'll give you a discount."

 

Keith can't resist the urge to frown suspiciously. "Do you offer that to all your neighbors?"

 

"Just the ones who tell their customers about the best flower shop in the city." His voice is coy and he glances around the purple walls. "I like this color much more than gray."

 

Keith uses the opportunity to glance at Shiro's forearms, covered by a pastel-colored shirt that leaves little to the imagination, and thins his lips. "The color wasn't my decision but I guess we need to be flashy to be remembered."

  
  
“That’s true. The walls of my shop are actually just plain white but I can’t have the walls stealing the attention from the flowers.”

 

Keith wonders if Shiro has ever really seen himself since he’s worried about  _ the walls  _ stealing the attention. 

 

“I’m not much of a flower person but thanks for the… violets.”

 

The way Shiro blinks his eyes could be funny if it wasn’t aimed at Keith. 

 

“Told you, I don’t know anything about flowers.”

 

“But I told you — they’re alstroemerias.”

 

“Oh. You meant the flowers.”

 

“What did you think I meant?”

 

“I just thought you were speaking in tongues,” Keith answers honestly.

 

Shiro actually sputters, then laughs deeply. “What?”

 

Keith refuses to feel embarrassed just because a gorgeous guy is laughing at him. “Hey, you came here smiling and offering flowers, that’s  _ weird _ .”

  
  
“I’m  _ nice _ . And you’re just not educated enough about flowers. If you stop by my shop, I’ll fix that.”

  
  
“Thanks.” Keith pauses before continuing. “But work. I have work.”

 

As if on cue, James appears from the back room. He casts such a loathing look at the purple walls that Keith makes a mental note to throw one of his pretentious, useless sketches into the trash bin later. 

  
  
“Keith, I’ll have my lunch break now,” he announces. His dark eyes glance at Shiro. “Hey, James Griffin.”

  
  
Shiro shakes the offered hand good-naturedly. “Takashi Shirogane.”

  
  
Keith frowns at the different name.

 

“Are you here to make an appointment? Keith is excellent with watercolors but if you want clear and realistic lines, I’m a better choice.”

  
  
Keith can’t help but bristle. “For fuck’s sake, do you always have to do that? We’re a team now.”

  
  
It’s impossible, at least for Keith, to make James look at least a bit remorseful but if anything he has the decency to apologize to Shiro. “I’m sorry, we’re both professionals, of course. I was just pointing out our strengths in different styles.”

 

Shiro doesn’t look bothered. “It’s fine. I don’t think I want a tattoo on my virgin skin just yet. I just came to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  
  
“He brought us these—” Keith hesitates. For some reason, it feels important to remember the name of the flowers now. “The um—”

  
  
“Alstroemerias,” James says and Keith wants to kick him in the face.

  
  
Shiro nods. “They symbol wealth and fortune, but also friendship.”

  
  
“That’s so kind of you, thanks,” James gives him a brief smile. “I’m sorry, my client should be here in an hour so I really gotta go eat that lunch now. Want me to walk you out or did you two— was I interrupting something?”

  
  
Shiro looks at Keith like it should be his place to answer the question. When Keith stays silent — because, honestly, what can he say, he should get back to work and if he stays with Shiro any longer he might embarrass himself even more — Shiro shakes his head.

  
  
“No, I was just leaving too. It was nice to meet you, Keith,” instead of simply saying goodbye, he taps Keith’s shoulder with his hand. It should be uncomfortable because it’s such a familiar gesture but Keith doesn’t mind it one bit. “Remember, those need  _ water _ .”

  
  
“Ha-ha, just because I don’t know the name of a pretty weed, I’m a complete idiot.”

  
  
Shiro doesn’t seem offended by Keith’s insult towards his bouquet and Keith regrets that he doesn’t have time to say something  _ nice  _ to him before he’s out of the door with James.

  
  
Before closing the door behind them, James looks at him like he’s the rude one of them.

  
  
Keith glares at the mess on the desk, then buries his nose in the bouquet, inhaling deeply. There’s not any particular scent except for the mild fragrance Shiro had. 

  
  
He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling as he hurries to the back room to get a vase for the flowers.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


One of Keith’s strengths is that he’s fast. He might sometimes be late for his early appointments because he is that much of a heavy sleeper but what he lacks in punctuality he makes up in skill and swiftness. 

  
  
The client is a possible forty-something-years old woman and it’s her first tattoo. She had visioned a blazing red feather but was unsure of the place and that gave Keith a nice opportunity to let his creativity bloom which isn’t as usual in his job as one would think. He colors the corners of the plush feather, gracing the needle on the nape of his client’s neck. The woman flinches and it’s not a sign of pain that Keith could recognize even with his eyes closed by now, but a small place of pleasure, something Keith finds almost with his every client. At first, he had found it a bit uncomfortable — he meets all kind of people thanks to his job and some of them are very unrestricted when it comes to voicing their sensations during tattooing. Now it’s simply another part of the routine as cleaning his tools and changing the ink in the needle.

 

“All done,” he announces after ten minutes.

 

“Already?” his client asks after a short pause as if woken from a dream. 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wow,” she says and doesn’t waste time standing up and going to inspect her neck in the full body mirror.

 

It’s Keith’s favorite part — he gets to guess what the client is going to say. Some swear in amazement, one young guy used words as colorful as “holy god’s pussy”, and some simply say wow. Keith’s best guess this time is the latter option.

  
  
“Oh  _ wow _ ,” she says again and looks at her skin like she has just found the ultimate meaning for having it. 

 

_ “It’s wonderful” _ , Keith thinks she says next.

 

“Holy moly, it looks like it’s on fire.”

 

_ Ah. _

 

“I hope you’re satisfied. I added some shadows so it doesn’t look like a sticker.”

 

“It’s perfect, thank you so much,” she says without even glancing at Keith. It makes him smile.

 

When his client is ready to pay for Keith’s small masterpiece, James casts a sour look at Keith before saying, “We’ll give you 10% discount for making you wait.”

  
  
“Oh, that’s okay, he was so fast with his work and it turned out this good! Your place has deserved every penny.”

 

“Keith is always fast and our general responsibility is to make sure every customer is happy with their tattoo so please, accept our offer.”

  
  
Keith hopes James could sometimes pull the stick out of his ass.

  
  
“Oh… alright then, if you are sure.”

 

“It’s okay, really,” Keith assures her when she glances at him unsurely. “I was fifteen minutes late and that wasn’t part of the deal.”

 

She nods and Keith gets to focus on cleaning up his workstead. 

 

“You’re losing us money,” James mutters later when they’re alone.

 

“It’s you who insists on the discount-thing.”

  
  
“I wouldn’t have to if you stopped being late.”

  
  
“I’m fast.”

  
  
“Start being fast and on time.”

  
  
Keith isn’t a fan of the moments when James is right. “I’ll try,” he murmurs.

 

James only nods and leaves the desk to get ready for his client. Keith walks around the desk and sits behind it, passing his time by doodling snowflakes. He hopes white wasn’t such a hard color to tattoo with. It never sticks long after the first time and he rarely manages to get it right even on the third time.

  
  
“About that Takashi-guy,” James starts and Keith does not think James can read his mind because he definitely wasn’t thinking of the hot flower-shop owner’s hair. “Why did you tell him I picked the purple color? Are you trying to make me look stupid again?”

  
  
“First of all,” Keith swallows. “I’ve never tried to make you look stupid, get over it already. Second…” to his horror, he doesn’t know what to say.

 

James lifts his eyebrow at him. “I don’t get it. You were like a whining kid when you insisted on painting the walls purple. Why are you embarrassed?”

  
  
“I’m not, it just came out. I dunno why.” Keith looks down at his fingers.

 

Then James laughs, loudly. “Nevermind. Your face just told me everything.”

  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith says quickly and smudges over the snowflakes. “No idea.”

 

“I have never seen you look like that.” James is still laughing like he does when he watches dumb vines. “It’s funny but kinda gross too.”

  
  
“Okay, shut up, I saw your boner when you were tattooing that goth-girl yesterday.”

 

James sputters and blushes like a teen. “You saw goddamn nothing! And she had to take her shirt off! It was a natural reaction.”

  
  
“Poor you."

  
  
James is clearly counting to ten before he answers, “Anyway, not the point. You still have the hots for our flower missionary.”

  
  
Keith tries to not dwell on the “missionary”-word because that might turn inconvenient.

 

“Maybe,” he confesses softly.

 

“And you actually got embarrassed in front of him.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Hah.”

  
  
“Smug is not a good look on you, James,” he says and stands up. “My presence is clearly distracting you so I’m out.”

 

“You should go to visit his shop. He kept saying that, didn’t he?”

 

“He said that to us, not to me especially.”

 

James shrugs. “I don’t think it would hurt you to do other things in your life. Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired and moody all the time.”

 

“ _ I’m  _ the moody one?” Keith asks him in disbelief. He grabs his short leather jacket then and sighs. “Whatever. Leave me alone already.”

 

He doesn’t like the calculating look James give him. There’s no taunt in his gaze, though, and that’s almost worse. Keith hates how well James knows him, even if it’s just because they own a company together and see each other almost every day for 8 hours straight. 

  
  
Instead of acknowledging the point James is trying to get across, he chooses to escape out of the studio.

 

The air is cool but the warmth of the sun is a small sign of the upcoming summer just around the corner. Keith loathes thinking the months when he has to give up his red leather jacket to the darkness of his closet. 

  
  
He hates summer, has hated for a long time now and this year it feels particularly dreadful to go through.

 

He walks across the street to visit his favorite Chinese restaurant, just beside the flower shop. He doesn’t even spare a glance towards the strangely inviting shop though, instead, he steps right into the restaurant and digs out his wallet. 

 

The owner, Chen smiles when he sees Keith. “Hello, Keith! Haven’t seen you for a while.”

 

“I’ve been busy with moving.”

  
  
Chen snorts softly. “It would be a shame— no, ironic if I lost you because you actually didn’t have to come here from the other side of the city anymore.”

 

“I’m here to prove that theory false,” Keith says and taps his fingers against the counter. “The usual please.”

 

Chen nods, peeks into the kitchen and yells “One chicken springrolls with sweet and sour sauce!” 

 

“Has Mr. Shirogane brought you flowers yet?” he asks as he turns back to Keith for their usual small chat.

 

“What?” Keith asks, almost spraining his ankle as his posture quickly tenses up. 

 

“He always brings flowers to everyone. He’s such a kind person.”

 

“Oh. Everyone?”

 

Chen nods at the left end of the counter and Keith notices the small, humble but still beautiful violet flowers in a white vase. 

  
  
Now the flowers Shiro had given him — and James — don’t feel particularly special. “I’m surprised he’s not bankrupt by now,” he murmurs.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, when he gives flowers it is for something and it always has a different meaning. My wife is crazy about flowers and she has thanked Mr. Shirogane many times for educating me about what they symbolize.” Chen rolls his eyes briefly. When he talks about his wife, in that familiar, tired but also endearing way, it reminds Keith of how his mom talked about his dad. “I can’t say I’m very good at the names, though. They’re overly complicated if you ask me.”

 

“Isn’t every name for a plant overly complicated?”

 

Chen ignores his comment and continues, “But I do remember these symbolize big-heartedness. Mr. Shirogane gave them to me because I had recommended his shop to this engaged couple when they came to have dinner here. You know, for their wedding. As if it was that big of a deal. That young man is so kind himself like it’s his nature, and he never takes a nice deed from another person for granted.”

 

Keith is rather hungry but the sinking feeling in his stomach is only partly caused by it. Maybe he is the way he is, gruff and unruly because he grew up in the south where people didn’t waste time on just playing nice but rather appreciated each other in a more straightforward way. Being overly sweet to everyone and handing gifts like spitting gum on the street, feels shallow and Keith has never cared for shallow people.

 

“That was very nice of you, though,” he says to Chen. “If I recommend your place to our customers, you don’t have to give me flowers. A free meal will be fine.”

 

Chen gives him a smirk. “No deal. Instead, I can give you a free meal to welcome you into the neighborhood.”

 

“You don’t have to, I was kidding,” Keith says, blinking in surprise. 

 

“It’s no bother. Really. You can sweet-talk to some of your customers about my food though, I won’t mind. Now take a seat.”

 

“Thanks.” Keith smiles at him before turning around and searching for a free table.

 

Thirty minutes later he’s stuffed with the world’s best springrolls, and the cheapest at that, and ready to return to work. 

 

As he steps outside, he sees the topic of the street watering the plants outside his shop. 

 

“Oh, hey!” Shiro says with a wide grin, the charmer. 

 

“Hey,” Keith says and is relieved to notice he’s much calmer talking to the guy this time. 

 

“Did you kill the flowers yet? I told James to keep an eye on them. And you.”

 

Keith frowns deeply. “The flowers are fine but James has been annoying today. Much more than usually, I mean.”

 

Shiro laughs at that softly. It’s more of a chuckle really, but it has such a deep melody to it, much like the way he speaks. 

 

“Do you two get along well?” he asks.

 

“We get along fine. We kinda have to, we’re partners,” Keith answers and shrugs his shoulders. “He’s an okay guy, really talented and he gets along with people. And he’s trustworthy. But his attitude is hard to deal with sometimes.”

 

Shiro hums in response. He doesn’t fish for any more information and ironically that makes Keith tell him more.

 

“We were interns in Atlas Ink. It’s a really popular tattoo studio on the other side of the city, you probably haven’t heard of it.”

 

“Actually, I think I have. My friend’s brother used to be their accountant. I think.” Shiro sets his ridiculously flower-shaped watering can down and Keith stares. He’s wearing the simple white dress shirt like before but this time the left sleeve is rolled up to his elbow and Keith can’t look away from the muscular arm. “I don’t know for sure, Matt doesn’t stay in one job for too long.”

 

Shiro’s arm is very nice. It has just the perfect amount of hair on it and it makes Keith wonder how nice his bicep must be.

 

Talking, he should talk.

 

“Okay. Cool,” he says and wants to slap himself on both cheeks, two times. “Anyway, I guess I was a bit better than James, in the manager’s eyes. And  James had been there longer than me. I also found his doodles of My Little Pony and showed them to everyone in the studio.”

 

“Keith,” Shiro covers his mouth and his eyes sparkle in delight. “You didn’t.”

 

“I thought they were good!” Keith tries to defend himself.  “There are a lot of clients who want My Little Pony tattoos. Okay, maybe not the ones who come in Atlas Ink, but overall. Everyone laughed at them and James got embarrassed which is dumb if you ask me.”

 

“Them laughing or James getting embarrassed?” Shiro drops his hand and reveals another dazzling grin.

 

“Both but especially James being ashamed of his work. He kept saying those were for his niece which is fine, I guess, but he then blamed me for trying to embarrass him.” Shiro looks at him funnily and it makes Keith fiddle with a stray hair that has escaped from his loose ponytail. “And I wasn’t. He can’t blame me for what he feels.”

 

“You have a very unique way to think.”

 

Keith wonders if the comment is a gentle insult but Shiro’s grin has faded away to make way for a pretty smile. It’s far from the plastic greeting smile he had before on their first encounter — this smile looks and feels genuine, something Shiro doesn’t share with just anyone.

 

It is, most likely, just Keith’s imagination, though.

 

“Thanks?”

 

“I’m serious. You’re honest and I think that’s—” Shiro inhales and settles with, “cool.”

 

Laughter pushes its way out of Keith’s shut lips like an uncontrollable sneeze. “You paint with words, flowerboy.”

 

“Flowerboy?” Shiro repeats the nickname like Keith had just spit on him and it makes Keith laugh again.

 

“My honesty is usually something people hate about me so I’d say you have a very unique way to think, too.”

 

Shiro shrugs, seemingly still perplexed about being a “flowerboy”. 

 

“You own a flower-shop, Shiro. I’m sorry I’m not great at petnames.”

 

The corner of Shiro’s mouth twitches. “Should I call you a tattoo-boy then? Technically you’re a flower-boy too because of that rose on your hand.”

 

Keith’s legs feel like they might start shaking and his mind is giddy. It’s a strange feeling, a feeling caused by a crush — despite his thoughts about Shiro being a shallow person before, he doesn’t seem that shallow with Keith, on the contrary, he’s easy to talk with, a lot more genuine here on the street than in Blade Ink, and still smoking hot. 

 

Keith doesn’t trust himself to reply to Shiro’s teasing. He leans into Shiro’s space and takes the watering can from where it’s resting on the small window sill. He offers it to Shiro and he’s proud of how long he can look at the guy in the eyes.

 

“Duty calls,” he says softly. “Both me and you. My client should arrive in 10 minutes and your weeds need a drink.”

 

“The weed joke wasn’t funny even the first time,” Shiro tells him, not without a chuckle. He takes the watering can and for a few seconds he’s not only grasping the handle but Keith’s fingers. It’s a loose touch, far from imposing like the drunken kisses Keith has had to swallow in nightclubs. Then it’s over. “I’ll see you around then,” Shiro says.

 

“Probably.”

 

“Probably.”

 

Keith can be oblivious but not so oblivious he’d miss subtle but still painfully obvious flirting. His brain betrays him by suggesting him to giggle like a high schooler so he turns his back to Shiro without saying anything more to guard his pride.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Having many clients is great. Keith has never made money as fast and as much as he does during the next three weeks. It looks like he doesn’t have to worry about his rent anymore, he can freely do what he loves and having short or sometimes an hour long conversation with Shiro is a big, big perk.

 

It’s great.

 

It also throws him off from his already non-existent balance. He doesn’t know what to do with so much money — he’s got no one to share it with and he’s not good at buying things for himself. He likes his job and loves drawing, to turn his sketches into an art-piece on the skin, but when he gets home, it’s too quiet and he can’t tune off the noise in his head. It usually helps him to focus on his work but now it keeps him tense so instead of relaxing or eating, he doodles until his fingers hurt. He can spend almost six hours by his desk, drawing, until he realizes he has to at least get a small snack before turning in for the day. 

 

He knows it’s not a good sign but it’s easier to keep going with it than acknowledge something needs to be changed. He thinks he’s had enough changes this year.

 

But even his work can’t hide the creeping darkness in his life all the time.

 

Keith is in the middle of coloring a tattoo, _a_ _lily_ , when the feeling of nausea hits him.

 

He straightens his back, exhales and casts an apologetic look at his client, Allura. “I’m sorry, can we have a five-minute break?”

 

“Of course,” she smiles, hesitating. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine, my mouth’s just itching for a smoke. And I think your foot deserves a break too. I’m kinda surprised you haven’t asked for one already.”

 

Allura’s smile widens. “Did you take me as a wimp?”

 

“Instep is a hard place.”

 

“So I’ve heard.” She cocks her head. “But I don’t think it hurts any more than when I got my arm tattooed.”

 

Keith feels better already when Allura gives him a new topic to think about. “I’m impressed. Your pain tolerance must be really high.”

 

She hums. “They’re only limbs.”

 

Keith lets out a short laugh. He can appreciate a person who’s the complete opposite of how they look like on the outside. Allura is wearing an expensive-looking dress, high heels and her curly hair reminds Keith of the fairytale princesses. Still, she’s clearly not a snob.

 

“Agreed,” Keith answers with a chuckle. He takes off his gloves and walks to the desk to find their cigarette stash. He sighs in relief when he does find it, unopened. He and James only smoke when their psyche demands for it and right now Keith wants to smoke the whole pack. “You smoke?” he asks Allura.

 

“No, my father was very strict about that.”

 

The word “was” sounds all too familiar. 

 

“Ah,” he only replies. 

 

“Unfairly so. He knew I hated the smell of cigarettes, oh, no offense to you, of course.”

 

“It’s fine.” He does agree with her on that too.

 

She turns quiet, seemingly lost in her thoughts. Her index finger traces the side of her foot, close to the tattoo’s line. 

 

Keith needs a smoke as quickly as possible.

 

“Five minutes,” he affirms. Allura glances at him and nods.

 

The warm air doesn’t lift his mood much but he’s glad to notice nausea has left as fast as it came. He lights up the cigarette and breathes in the smoke, lets it drag out the tension in his muscles. 

 

He knows what it feels like, to lose someone important. Two of them actually. But while he has had a long time to accept that his dad is gone, he said goodbye to his mom only 10 months ago and it  _ still  _ keeps hurting like a wound that should have at least scabbed by now but it’s still open and pulsing, ready for any infection to claim it. His empty apartment, reminders of his old home in the south and of his mother’s funeral, her coffin surrounded by lilies — those are infections. 

 

His eyes travel across the street and look at the flower shop’s window, so familiar by now, like its’ owner. Part of him wishes Shiro would come out and move up their lunch-break, which they usually spend together, so Keith could run away from the corners of his mind and drown in the warm atmosphere that always seems to hover over Shiro.

 

But he can’t, can he? He’s an adult, no matter how many nights he spends dreaming of his parents being alive and him being a kid again.

 

He steps on the stump of the cigarette and gets back to work.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Keith, are you okay?”

 

“Huh?” Keith looks at Shiro, only to see him already staring back. “Sure?”

 

“‘Sure’? That sounds like ‘I don’t know’ to me.” Shiro’s eyes are piercing through him, something Keith has noticed him do quite often. 

 

“How would you like me to say it then, sir?” Keith smirks tiredly, leaning his chin against the table. They are in one of Shiro’s favorite food places, S’Martie’s Smoothies, and while Shiro has almost drunk his own sugar-bomb-health-risk-portion, Keith’s Orange-Orangutan smoothie is still almost untouched thanks to his poor appetite. 

 

Shiro nudges the tip of his foot against Keith’s calf and that simple gesture shouldn’t feel as special as it feels to Keith. Shiro’s frowning slightly at him. “I mean it, Keith. What’s wrong? You have bags under your eyes, black-hole lookalikes. And you’re so pale.”

 

“I’m—” Keith catches his lower lip between his lips before sighing. Shiro taps his calf again. “You don’t have to worry. I just haven’t slept well.”

 

“Or eaten,” Shiro points out, glancing at Keith’s smoothie.

 

“Yeah.” Keith grimaces. “But as I said, you don’t have to worry. I know I haven’t been good company for the last four days.”

 

“You’re always good company, don’t even joke about that,” Shiro says with such ease, gazing at Keith softly. “But… um, and tell me if I’m overstepping my boundaries. I asked you what’s  _ wrong.  _ I have already noticed you’re not doing well so I’d like to know the reason.”

 

Keith lowers his gaze onto his hands. 

 

“You don’t have to. But don’t tell me not to be worried because of course I worry.”

 

Shiro looks like he’s about to say more but Keith speaks instead, “Why?” 

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why do you worry?” 

 

Shiro seems to think carefully before answering. He makes sure Keith is looking at him when he says, “Because I care. About you.”

 

Keith has felt like drowning ever since his mom’s cancer was diagnosed. The pit where he is trying to keep himself afloat gets deeper every day and he doesn’t understand why. Shouldn’t he be happy, at least for his mom?

 

He has never had anyone to talk about it. He did have friends before but no one seemed to be that kind of friend, a friend who would hold his heart for a while if he got tired of carrying it. He has one now, though. Shiro’s bright eyes are the prettiest Keith has ever seen, he likes it when Keith calls him Shiro and not Takashi, he always listens to Keith complain about customers who are never satisfied with his sketches and... he brings Keith flowers every weekend, saying that it’s a thank you for the five days they have spent together and worked hard. Keith now has three different types of flowers in his apartment and he still struggles to remember their names. But they’re all beautiful and when Keith looks at them, his home doesn’t feel as empty.

 

Shiro could be that friend.

 

“Do you want to come over?” 

 

“I— Now?” Shiro looks around as if Keith has said something inappropriate.

 

It’s a rare kind of day when they have finished their work at the same time — Keith’s work hours are slightly irregular at best and Shiro’s are even worse because while Keith has James, Shiro runs his business alone.

 

“Yeah,” Keith answers him. “Now.”

 

Shiro is silent for a long time and it makes Keith reconsider. Despite them hanging above the line of somewhat-friends and somewhat-something-more-than-friends, maybe they’re not anywhere close to the point of meeting outside public places or work. Or maybe Keith has been reading everything all wrong.

 

But he likes Shiro and he’s not a coward.

 

“ _ I _ want you to come over,” he establishes before taking a loud slurp of his Orange-Orangutan.

 

Shiro seems almost shy when he glances at Keith after some more thinking. He then rests his cheek against the heel of his palm and the adorable smile he gives Keith should be illegal on a man as beautiful as him. 

 

“Okay.”   
  
It’s Keith’s turn to give Shiro’s leg a nudge. His appetite is suddenly just a bit better so he starts drinking his smoothie in earnest. Shiro watches him, satisfied.

 

Keith dreads to use the bus daily (he might start saving up his money for a motorcycle or even a car) but today it’s different because Shiro is sitting beside him on the hard sear and telling Keith about all the places he’s traveled to with his parents. 

 

“Hawaii?” Keith asks in amazement. “Why would you go there?”

 

“Why not? My parents loved that place.”

 

“Good for them but… it’s hot. And there’s nothing to do.”

 

“Nothing to do?” Shiro knocks his knee against Keith’s own. “Do you know how many rare  _ flowers  _ there are?”

 

Keith snorts at that.

 

“Besides, the waves to surf on, and the mountains to hike around? Sure, it’s a good place to lay around on the beach and get drunk but I don’t care much for that.”

 

“To be honest, I should have known. I’ve never thought of you as someone who likes to sit on their ass for long.” One would think Keith is already sick of eyeing at the muscles Shiro has but he once again looks at Shiro’s shoulders and chest when the other is busy watching outside at the passing view. 

 

“Glad to hear that. I’m not  _ that _ much of a flower-boy, flower-boy.” 

 

They arrive at Keith’s stop only five minutes later. Before he starts leading Shiro towards his apartment building though, he grabs the sleeve of the snug jacket he’s wearing. 

 

“Hey. Are you okay with a little detour?” he asks. It’s only seven p.m. but Keith doesn’t know how long Shiro is comfortable staying with him, given their hangouts have only lasted about two hours at most. 

 

“Always,” Shiro says and it sounds like a promise. “Didn’t I already tell you about my parents who loved moving around the globe? Detours are my way of life.”

 

“C’mon.” Instead of letting go of Shiro’s sleeve, Keith pulls on it so Shiro stays close to him for the whole walk. 

 

They travel down the street then Keith leads him to a small bridge over the rushing river, grateful that it’s a weekday so the area isn’t full of drunkards. Shiro tries to slow them down so he can admire the river but Keith impatiently pulls him with him because on the other side of the bridge is a small park and the spot Keith wants to show him.

 

“You can admire the water later, you dork!” he half-laughs and half-yells. He swallows down his nervousness before moving his hand up from Shiro’s sleeve to properly hold his hand as if it’s only to prevent Shiro from stopping by the bridge. 

 

He doesn’t dare to look at Shiro behind him and Shiro only reacts to his touch by squeezing his hand gently, and not letting go.

 

When they reach the spot, they stop and Keith swings their joined hands expectantly.

 

“I thought you might like it. I know rose bushes aren’t anything special but I like them.” He glances down at his tattooed hand. “Obviously.”

 

Shiro has a joyful expression on his face as he looks at the crescent-shaped ring of rose bushes ahead of them. The four bushes in the middle have rainbow-colored roses while the two at the tips of the crescent have deep red ones. Keith isn’t sure if Shiro has seen the spot before, he must have, right— but still, Keith knows it was worth it to bring him here.

 

Shiro turns his attention to Keith. 

 

“I didn’t know about this park!” He lets out a laugh as if he was reading Keith’s thoughts.

 

“What?” Keith lets go of his hand. Then he grins and good-naturedly hits Shiro on the shoulder in excitement. “I can’t believe I knew a pretty  _ rose-bush spot _ and Shiro the fucking flower-nerd didn’t!”

  
  
Shiro hits him back on his arm and it stings in a pleasant way on Keith’s bare skin.

 

“Hey! You live in a very remote part of the city!” he tries to defend himself. 

 

“No! I win. You can never mock me about flowers again.”

 

“I can mock you whenever I want about whatever I want,” Shiro growls and Keith’s insides perform a back-flip at the sound.  He doesn’t even protest when Shiro pulls him into his space, grasping his wrist. Keith gets the hair ruffle of his life and it’s the perfect excuse to press his face against Shiro’s hot neck. He chuckles into the inviting skin and Shiro has some mercy on him after he has playfully pulled on the hair strands framing Keith’s neck. 

 

They both breathe for a while and neither has any intention of separating from their half-hug.

 

“Do you want to get closer?” Keith asks softly. 

 

“No.” Shiro whispers. “This is good.”

 

_ Yeah _ , Keith thinks, marveling at the way Shiro’s heavy hand is resting on his shoulders. Keith carefully raises his own hands and grazes his fingers against Shiro’s waist before he decides to slip them into the pockets of Shiro’s jacket.

 

“So tell me. What’s the scientifical name for the rainbow rose?”

 

Shiro’s chest vibrates slightly at his teasing tone.

 

“Rainbow roses are artificially colored so it depends on what cultivars one would use. Those could possibly be Vendela Rainbow Rose or Rose Avalanche Crystal Green.”

 

Keith knows he’s in for deep when he actually imagines how Shiro’s dirty talk could be just him prattling about flowers and how Keith would actually be okay with it.

 

“What about red roses?”

 

“I don’t think you have the energy to listen to me list them all,” Shiro answers, his breathing closer to Keith’s head that he could have hoped for. 

 

Keith leans back slightly, staring into Shiro’s deep eyes as he offers his hand to him. “What about this one?”

 

The way Shiro cradles his hand is almost too much for Keith to watch — his touch is silky and despite Keith’s long fingers, Shiro’s hand is so big compared to his own, and it doesn’t help that the expression on Shiro’s face looks like he’s holding something very precious. 

 

“Let’s see,” his voice is as soft as his touch. “The color reminds me of Rose Europeana but the shape is definitely more like Standard Tea Rose.”

 

“Standard?” Keith hopes he doesn’t sound as breathless as he feels because Shiro’s thumb rubbing the spot between his own thumb and index finger feels too good. “You’re saying I’m standard then?”

 

Shiro doesn’t join the joke but instead, he presses his forehead against Keith’s and by then it’s impossible for Keith’s attention to stray anywhere else that isn’t Shiro’s eyes or lips. “No. You’re far from standard.”

 

It would be easy for Keith to lift his chin and capture Shiro’s lips with his own but Shiro beats him to it. He kisses Keith frustratingly softly but Keith would be lying if he said he didn’t love it. It takes a while for Shiro to add some pressure into the kiss but when he does Keith groans in satisfaction, opening his mouth and willing to give Shiro anything he would want. 

 

It’s a scary thought but also extremely thrilling.

 

“I can’t believe I haven’t asked this before,” Shiro sighs against his lips, toying at the hem of Keith’s shirt. “but do you have any other tattoos?”

 

“Three.”

 

“Where?” Shiro noses the side of his chin.

 

Keith takes Shiro’s hand from his hip and directs it to his thigh. “Up here,” he murmurs.

 

“Keith,” Shiro practically moans.

 

“Here,” Keith says when their joined hands slide against his lower back. He feels Shiro shiver. He turns around and taps behind his shoulder. “And here.”

 

Shiro pecks the back of his neck.

 

Keith spins around to face him again and gives him a careful glance before looking at the stump where his right arm would be. He smooths his palm against the hard shoulder then looks at Shiro again.

 

Shiro has told Keith about the car accident where he lost his arm but has never wanted to speak about it further.

 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says quietly.

 

“Why are you sorry?”

 

“I’m not— You’re so beautiful while I’m…” He doesn’t need to finish for Keith to understand what he means.

 

“You’re perfect,” Keith says sternly. It’s painfully understandable for Shiro to think the way he does despite how he always seems to try and ignore the absence of his arm. He’s the kind of person who doesn’t want to burden others with his insecurities, at least not until he lets someone closer; lets someone in.

 

Keith feels honored to be that person.

 

“Perfect?” Shiro’s expression is grim but the laugh he lets out sounds warm. 

 

“To me you are.” Keith slowly touches the stump, covered by the knot of the jacket’s sleeve. He presses himself flush against Shiro’s body. “And if you are not that to someone else as well, I’ll beat them up.”

 

He can feel Shiro’s body relax.

 

“Thank you, Keith. For saying that and for showing me the roses.”

 

“Want to see my place now?”

 

“Definitely.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Shiro in his apartment is such a familiar sight that it confuses Keith but not in an unpleasant way. It reminds him of those antique stuff his mom used to collect, that didn’t fit anywhere in their modern home but they still felt like a piece of their life because they were something she treasured.

 

After Shiro takes his shoes off and Keith tells him to sit where ever he wants, he chooses to walk around Keith’s home as if taking in every detail. Maybe he is and it makes Keith restless.

 

“I love your home,” Shiro says with such honesty that Keith kind of wants to cry. “It so different from mine. Mine is probably a health risk. The pipes are outside of the walls instead of inside.” His grin is hard to read — he might be joking or not.

 

“The rent is… a lot.” Which is true but Keith has always been the kind of guy who needs his home to be a special place. Exactly like he wants, no matter the cost. The sleek, black walls, a simple kitchen and a big window in the bedroom are a step towards what he wants to come home to. 

 

He tells Shiro as much and is rewarded with a soft gaze and warm hand on his neck. 

 

“I get what you mean,” he says and when he lets go to look further into the apartment, Keith recklessly wants to pull him back into his space.

 

Shiro admires his couch and then his eyes land on all the flowers he has given Keith.

 

“You haven’t killed them!”

 

“Hey!” Keith tries to sound offended but Shiro’s laugh is contagious like always. “You gave them to me, why did you think I wouldn’t take care of them?”

 

“They look happy.” It would be a strange thing for anyone else but for Shiro to say so Keith only looks at him, smitten. 

 

But when Shiro sees the corner of the small living room, Keith’s freezes, shocked that he forgot about the space he has given for his memory — for his mom, for the lilies.

 

“Madonna Lilies,” Shiro breathes out. He takes a step closer to the table where the dark vase with the lilies is. “I thought—” he starts but his voice dies out when he sees a sharp blade on the table, plain but accurately placed in front of the lilies. 

 

Keith stares at Shiro, staring at the blade then back at the lilies. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he simply says. 

 

Somehow it’s just enough.

 

“Thanks. My mom… last year. Cancer.”

 

Keith foolishly thought that he wouldn’t have to say anything else but Shiro’s pained expression seems to indicate the opposite.

 

“Keith…”

 

“It’s okay,” he hurries to say and it’s an ugly lie. It’s not okay,  _ he’s  _ not okay, no matter how much he wants and tries to be. “It’s okay,” he, for some reason, says again.

 

Shiro steps close to him and strokes his arm. The motion makes Keith shiver. He isn’t sure why he feels so shaken up, as if by seeing the little memorial Keith has put up for his mom, Shiro can also see everything else, every pathetic and small part of Keith and his life.

 

“The lilies are beautiful,” Shiro tells him. “That blade too. Was it hers? You don’t have to tell me, though,” he adds, not as an afterthought but as a promise.

 

From someone else, the question could be like a stab into an open wound. But Shiro’s gentleness is a warm blanket that wraps itself around Keith, with him barely noticing it. It’s almost dangerous — it makes him feel like he could tell Shiro anything.

 

“Yeah,” Keith answers, his voice rough. He swallows so he can sound normal again, calm and collected. The Keith Shiro likes. “It was something her father gave her, to protect her from shady guys, I guess.”

 

Shiro smiles shortly at that.

 

“She never went anywhere without it. She told me once that when she first met my dad in a bar, she scared him to death when he spotted the knife in her open purse,” Keith chuckles. 

 

“Was she fiery like you?” Shiro’s arm hesitantly wraps around Keith’s shoulders, pulling Keith’s back against his chest. Keith allows the touch — as if he’d ever want to pull away. 

 

“I’m not fiery.”

 

“You are. No wonder flowers grow well with you, you’re like the sun, you burn so brightly,” Shiro’s mouth is just beside Keith’s ear and his voice sounds like a melody Keith has always known.

 

“I didn’t know you’re that much of a sap.” Keith looks at the white lilies, how they seem to be too droopy to be called beautiful. “Some could have called her fiery but I think she was tender. She understood me even when I didn’t understand myself. Or her.”

 

Shiro’s arm squeezes him a bit tighter and it makes Keith bite his lip. He gulps down the words he wants to say but, as if sensing Keith holding himself back, Shiro nuzzles his cheek.

 

“Keith?”

 

He shouldn’t feel so sad. He has a hot, and the sweetest guy in his apartment and if he doesn’t get a hold of himself he’s going to slip down to a route where he will make a fool of himself, he’s sure of it.

  
  
“Baby?” Shiro’s voice is barely audible but because he’s so close to Keith, the endearment feels like a yell instead, a yell that is threatening to break the glass around him. Shiro swipes the back of his hand against Keith’s cheek and Keith almost flinches away. Shiro’s touch spreads the wetness on his cheek, something he tried to hold in so badly that his body had to force it out of him without his consent.

 

“What?” Keith’s voice trembles violently and he feels like he could start hyperventilating in the next couple of seconds. 

 

“It’s okay,” Shiro whispers. 

 

“No,” Keith spits out and laughs bitterly. “It’s not. It’s been almost a year and I’m still— why can’t I be fine again? She’d be so disappointed if she saw me now, she did everything she could so I would be happy and now I’m miserable, a loser who can’t let go of the past. I’m so…” he sobs. “...so pathetic.”

 

“It’s okay,” Shiro tells him again. And again. “It’s okay, baby. I promise.” As Keith bends, the sobs shaking his body, Shiro pulls him to left and they crash on the couch. He pushes Keith’s bangs back. “You’re not pathetic. Believe me.”

 

_ If I had any hope of seeing him naked tonight, I killed and stepped on that hope just now, _ Keith thinks and to him, it seems so comical, so much like his luck that he wants to laugh through his tears. But the sadness washing over him is too great and he can only press his wet face against Shiro’s shirt, seek for comfort which he doesn’t feel like he deserves. 

 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whimpers because apologizing is the least he can do. 

 

“No, baby, shh,” Shiro says and kisses his hair. “At some point, we have to let our pain out.”

 

“I didn’t want to let it out in front of you, though.”

 

“Why?” Shiro asks and intertwines their fingers, resting them on Keith’s thigh. 

 

“Because I like you,” Keith breathes out. He strokes his and Shiro’s fingers with his right hand, once again marveling the contrast. 

 

“I like you too.” Keith can feel the smile against his temple. “I like you a lot. That’s why I’m here and that’s why I asked you about mom. That’s why I’m holding you.” There’s that familiar vibration in his chest, a sign that he’s holding in a laugh. “And that’s why I think I can’t let go of you after this.”

 

Keith blinks and makes a swift move, an attempt to push himself away from Shiro. True to his word, Shiro’s arm stays strong and sure around him and Keith admires the strength only one of his arm possesses. He smiles and goes completely slack in Shiro’s hold, slumping against his warm body. Shiro lets out a delighted sound and presses the tip of his nose to Keith’s cheekbone.

 

“Hey, Keith?”

 

“Yeah?”

  
  
“Can I tell you something too?”

 

Keith turns his head so that their eyes can meet. “Of course you can.”

 

“I lost my grandfather three years ago.” Shiro’s gaze is full of foreign sadness, a new piece of himself that he’s revealing to Keith. Keith can’t look away. “He was a florist too and I could say he’s one of the reasons I love flowers so much. The memory of him has faded a bit and it’s scary because I don’t want to forget anything about him. But the pain will never go away and it’s okay to feel that pain.”

 

Keith cups his cheeks gently and Shiro leans into his touch as if basking in it. 

 

“I’m not saying you will always feel sad,” he continues. “Because the pain will turn into something sweet and you learn to embrace it. And I promise you, you’ll be okay. As long as you let yourself have the time you need to get there. And I know it sounds like a worn cliche  but she’ll never leave you.” His hand moves Keith’s fingers to his mouth and the tips of them are blessed with a lingering kiss. “As long as you let her in.”

 

Who is this man and why didn’t Keith find him sooner? How is it possible that he always finds just the right words to say?

 

“Shiro,” Keith sighs and as Shiro smiles at him tenderly, Keith pulls him into a kiss. Keith’s pretty sure he tastes of tears but Shiro doesn’t seem to complain — instead, he kisses Keith back, not taking anything, only giving, opening his mouth for Keith and his affection. “I’m sorry,” Keith says after he pulls away. “I really wanted to kiss you again.”

 

“Never apologize for kissing me, I might die.” There’s a delicious pout on Shiro’s face that Keith wants to devour. 

 

“Okay, I won’t. But I will say thank you. I don’t think anyone has ever said something as kind to me as you just did.” He lets his gaze roam over Shiro’s face, the small, barely-there dimples on the side of his chin, pink cheeks, the faint scar across his nose, his grey eyes, and neat eyebrows. He wants to save everything on his retina. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. You must have loved him a lot.”

 

Shiro nods, his own eyes never leaving Keith’s face either.

 

“You’re amazing for dedicating your life for something your grandfather loved. I don’t even like lilies, even though they were mom’s favorite.” Both of them look at the vase, Keith with a frown until he senses Shiro’s eyes on him instead. He looks curious. “They remind me too much of her. But maybe the biggest reason is that people usually associate them with death or funerals and sometimes I can’t believe  _ my  _ mom, who was tough and always determined on going forward, liked something that depressing.”

 

Shiro hums, clearly considering something.

 

“Get on with it, flower-boy. Please share your opinion with an amateur like me.”

 

“Don’t worry, Keith. You can hate lilies if you want. I think roses suit you and your nature much better anyway.” To emphasize his words he taps his forefinger against the back of Keith’s palm. Keith captures his finger and squeezes it gently. “But I can understand why lilies were her favorite. Sure, lilies are a very popular funeral flower, especially the white ones. But mainly, they also symbolize motherhood.” After saying that, he briefly presses the tip of his finger on Keith’s nose. Keith doesn’t know whether to frown at him or kiss the finger so he stays idle. “And passion, the beauty of youth and rebirth. Funny how those are the exact opposite of death.”

 

“Flowers are overly complicated,” Keith affirms. 

 

“They’re not. People just like to think of them as such.” 

 

Shiro spreads himself on the couch, looking like a someone who owns it and this time Keith follows his instincts when they tell him to snuggle Shiro and make sure he never leaves his side again. They lie there, in silence for a long time. Keith can see the full moon from the window and thinks how much of a fool he was for thinking the color of Shiro’s hair bangs were like a color of a snowflake — it’s clearly like a moon, illuminating and graceful.

 

“To me,” Shiro tells him softly. “it sounds like your mom liked lilies because they reminded her of you.”

 

Keith’s eyes burn at those words and as he glances at the lilies again, he hopes he could make them stand up taller, turn their gaze up instead of down — something he hopes he can do to himself as well.

 

Maybe Shiro can help him.

 

“Stay the night?” he asks.

 

“Of course,” Shiro sighs against Keith’s mouth.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


James makes gagging noises at him for the next nine days, without a reason.

 

“What is your problem?” Keith demands while James’ disinfecting his hands and Keith himself is trying to drink his cappuccino in peace before their next clients, a group of friends who want watercolor lion tattoos, arrive.

 

“I thought romance would do you some good but no, you look too weird. You’re getting some and it’s all over your face. Start using a mask. Please.”

 

“It’s not— all over my face…” Keith scratches his jaw. It’s not, is it?

 

“Don’t  _ smile _ , that’s so  _ scary _ .”

 

“You— stop!” To his horror, a chuckle escapes out from Keith’s mouth. “What?”

 

“Did you laugh?” James’ eyebrow twitches. “You just laughed, didn’t you?”

 

“Is this going to be our routine now? My body reacts a certain way and you ask if it really did it?”

 

James shakes his head. He doesn’t look bothered, instead, there’s almost an amused expression on his face but he doesn’t seem to be able to decide which emotion he should feel. 

 

After that, Keith has only two minutes to satisfy his caffeine craving before the door opens and a group of loud people steps inside the studio. 

 

“We decided on yellow for Hunk!” the shortest one says to a lanky brown-haired guy. 

 

“Orange will stick better!”

 

“You don’t know shit about tattoos, why should we listen to you?”

  
  
“It’s common knowledge!”

 

“Lance, Pidge, please shut it or none of us will get our tattoos because we’ll get kicked out,” says the lady who has a very familiar face. 

 

“Allura, hi,” Keith greets her. 

 

“Hey, Keith!” She beams. “Nice to see you again! My friend Hunk called you because I recommended you and James to him.”

 

“To you all, you mean?” Keith clarifies for her. James, polite as always, shakes everyone’s hands, lastly the biggest guy’s, who must be Hunk. 

 

“Yes, I suppose so,” she laughs briefly. “We have been friends ever since we were children and we wanted a small monument of all the years we have spent together.”

 

“And the years to come!” the brown-haired guy, Lance, adds, throwing his arm around Allura’s shoulders. He’s eyeing at Keith suspiciously.

 

“Obviously, Lance,” Allura replies in a dry tone. She pinches Lance’s left cheek and he utters out a sound that’s something between a whine and a sigh.

 

“So,” James says, going over some of his sketches. “I’m doing the red lion for Lance and the green one for Katie—”

 

“Call me Pidge,” the short girl corrects him. “Why did you tell them my real name, Hunk?” Keith hears her mutter.

  
  
“I thought it’d be better since you’re barely 18—”

 

“—and Keith, since he’s faster, is doing three. Yellow for Hunk, blue for Allura. And a black one for Shiro.”

 

“...what did you just say?”

 

Everyone is looking at him, slightly confused, except for James who is the perfect picture of a smuggler who just got safely through the customs. 

 

“Wooo, you’re  _ that  _ Keith?” Hunk points at him with a wide grin on his face.

 

“Wait, Shiro’s boyfriend Keith?” Lance says with that obnoxiously loud tone. “I didn’t know Shiro’s boyfriend works in Blade Ink. I didn't even know Shiro’s boyfriend is a tattoo artist!”

 

“I stand correct, Lance knows nothing about tattoos.”

  
  
“Shiro and I thought it would be a nice surprise!” Allura says innocently, tapping her palms together.  Everyone erupts in vociferous complaints. 

 

Keith sees James rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s in pain. “What a lovely bunch,” he mutters only loud enough for Keith to hear. 

 

Keith peers over the group, uselessly — he would have spotted Shiro immediately.

 

“Sorry but—” When he cannot catch Allura’s attention over the chatter, he grabs the one who is the closest — Hunk.

 

Keith taps him on the shoulder and Hunk smiles at him. “Hey, I’m really happy for you and Shiro. He talks about you.  _ A lot. _ ”

 

Keith cannot resist the warm flutter inside him. “Only good, I hope.”

 

“Are you kidding? I’m sure he would let you steal his shop and thank you afterward. Oh!” Hunk shrugs down his back bag and pulls out four big, neon-colored lunch boxes. “I made us some snacks. Since we’re going to be here all day, right?”

  
  
“Right,” Keith is dying to ask what those snacks exactly are but he refuses to get distracted. “Um, where’s Shiro?”

 

“Shouldn’t you know?” Lance joins the conversation.

 

“Oh, he didn’t know Shiro was one of our clients today, either,” James says, sounding and looking so proud of himself. “That was meant to be another surprise.”

 

“Shiro’s closing the shop,” Allura explains to Keith. “He should be here any second.”

 

Keith nods. He feels baffled about this strange surprise, especially since Shiro had never mentioned he wanted to get a tattoo. Getting a tattoo, done by your boyfriend seems like a logical decision but it still makes Keith feel giddy to know that Shiro chose  _ him. _

 

“God, that’s the same face Shiro has when he gets lost in his head,” Pidge says. Keith turns his head, looking away so no one can see him blush. 

 

“Now we know what he’s thinking about when he does,” Lance unnecessarily adds.

 

Like a punchline to a joke, the door opens once again, revealing Shiro. Instead of wearing his usual long-sleeved shirts, he has a black t-shirt and there’s a light gauze covering his stump. His grey ripped jeans hug his powerful thighs perfectly. Keith wants to think he’s strong enough to not jump on him but he isn’t so sure as Shiro flashes him a smile. That smile, Keith has learned, is only meant for him and no one else.

 

“Hey,” they both say to each other at the same time.

 

“This is going to be awful, isn’t it?” Lance asks with a dramatic groan. “Please tell me Shiro is the last one because I want to be far away from here when the emo-mullet gets his hands on him.”

 

“Say that again, please,” Keith asks with a sweet voice as he uses his best glare on Lance. 

 

James pushes his way through between Keith and the friend group, walking to the switch to set the light just right. “We’re wasting time. I’m getting the equipment. Keith, you get your sketches and the gloves.”

 

“Yeah, just a minute.” He turns back to Shiro and simply adores the bashful expression on his boyfriend’s face. “So,” he starts when he’s at Shiro’s side, his arm wrapped around the snug waist. “A tattoo?”

 

“Allura told me there was this really talented tattoo artist, just across my shop.” Shiro’s eyebrows are raised in mock-wonder. His hand creeps across the small of Keith’s back. “Can you believe it?”

 

Keith’s gives him a smirk. “Where do you want this lion tattoo then?”

 

“You know, I haven’t decided yet. Could you help me?”

 

“Of course I will, babe.”

  
  
“Thank you, babe.”

 

They both ignore the muffled groans Shiro’s friends give them and Shiro gives Keith a wet kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

 

“Hey.” Keith strokes Shiro’s chin with his thumb. “You look really good.”

 

Keith’s pretty sure Shiro has started to be more comfortable with his body, especially the upper part, thanks to Keith praising it as often as he can. Shiro seems like a miracle that has popped into his life, right from the start — first as a small light and then slowly he started to ignite and before Keith even knew what hit him, he was a puddle of melt in front of Shiro. Then Shiro shaped him anew, made him whole again. He doesn’t know if he can ever even try to tell Shiro these things, especially since by now they have dated only for a week. But it doesn’t mean he’s not trying to convey his poetic, deep feelings in other ways, and one of them is that he calls Shiro the most beautiful man in the universe, just like he is.

 

Shiro seems to take his time to enjoy Keith’s praise for a few seconds, keeping his eyes closed as Keith caresses his jawline and then cheeks. 

 

“That’s somewhat the same thing I thought when I first saw you here,” he tells Keith then. “Except my thoughts were not as eloquent. They were a bit more like ‘a god’, ‘sexy bad boy’, ‘step on me’ and ‘what do I say to a person who is that much out of my league’.”

 

Keith feels like his face is on fire. “What?”

 

“You were so focused on your work that you didn’t even realize how long I was staring at you before I could just say ‘hi’. You didn’t even hear me open the door.”

 

“Damn,” Keith gives a laugh at that memory. “You’re right.”

 

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” Shiro whispers like it’s a secret just between them when it’s the exact opposite. Shiro’s possessive arm around his shoulders or waist, or just a simple hand-holding, have become a constant contact that Keith loves to feel where ever they are. 

 

Shiro cups his cheeks and kisses him slowly, without any hurry and Keith exhales against his soft lips after the kiss is over.

 

“And you’re mine,” Keith replies. “And no one else is allowed to tattoo you but me.”

 

“I like that idea probably a bit too much,” Shiro says with a loud bark-like laugh. 

 

“Flower boy point two,” Allura calls out, figuratively poking at the little bubble Keith and Shiro have around them. “How about we start on my blue lion?” 

 

Keith answers her excited smile. “Sure.” He turns back to Shiro and asks, “On your chest? How would you feel about that?”

 

“The lion?”

  
  
Keith nods.

 

“Yeah…” The more Shiro thinks about it, the more he seems to like the idea. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

 

Keith gives him one last kiss before he goes to fetch the gloves.    
  


Doing his job, with Shiro watching, and getting to know his friends, he feels relaxed — happy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It takes three months and then the vase with white lilies is surrounded by more vases, more lilies, colorful ones. Keith takes good care of them and now when he looks at them, he smiles, sometimes bittersweetly, sometimes thankfully. 

 

There’s also, besides all the other flowers in his home, always one rose in his bedroom. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
